


Let Live

by brandyllyn



Category: Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: "I have no idea where this is going", F/M, Plot What Plot, but more of a, but not in a good sexy way, god only knows what is happening here, kind of way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandyllyn/pseuds/brandyllyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was beautiful, she was capable, and if he was being 100% honest with himself she scared the shit out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what is happening to my world of writing. This story is giving me 109 problems so no guarantees on how often it will be updated. But I felt I needed to get what I have out there...

Water was dripping from a pipe somewhere in the deep recesses of the abandoned warehouse. Nevada Ramirez’s shoes made a clicking accompaniment as he paced the concrete in front of the two figures standing in the small pool of light. It was straight out of a horror movie. He typically eschewed theatrics, but when they were presented to him he was not adverse to taking advantage. Keeping himself in the dark shadows he felt his anger rolling off of him in waves.

“You’ve got a pair of cajones on you, I’ll give you that. Stupid, yes, but big brass balls.”

The pair couldn’t be more mismatched. A kid, no more than eighteen, and a woman - much closer to Nevada’s age. How the fuck had she gotten mixed up with this little asshole? It didn’t matter, he was going to kill them both. He stepped forward, feeling the light wash over his face.

“What kind of fucking moron thinks they can come into my house and deal shit on _my_ streets…”

The kid in front of him cringed away, shutting his eyes against the spittle that flew from Nevada’s lips. He was dressed like every hood rat in the Heights - pants too big, jacket sagging off his shoulder, sideways baseball cap. A little thugish for a white boy. Some little gringo playing at being a badass. Well, it was a steep learning curve in the real world. Too bad for him he wouldn’t have the opportunity to learn from the mistake.

Next to the kid, the woman was relaxed, her olive skin glowing in the scant light. Greek maybe? Or Italian. Dressed in soft white and light grey she looked incongruous to the warehouse around her. She was perfectly still - her arms hanging loose at her sides and with an air of nonchalance that galled at him. In fact, he didn’t think she’d moved so much as a muscle since his crew had brought them in. Did she not understand what was happening?

“Mr Ramirez, please, I’ll do anything-“ the kid. Maybe his balls weren’t as big as he’d thought. Nevada sneered, spitting to the side as he looked at him. “It wasn’t my idea, she made me.”

Jesus, could the kid be more pathetic? Nevada shifted his weight, stepping into the woman's space, using his body to crowd against her but she didn’t move, just stared back into his eyes unblinking. In fact, she seemed not to notice him, her chest rising and falling evenly under a thin white shirt. His fingers twitched from the urge to shake her. “Is that so? So tell me little zorra - what went through that empty little head of yours eh?” She was silent, her eyes fixed at a point just below his left eye and he grunted. “Fine, you want to play that way?”

He turned to his gang making a gesture with his hands and a sharp _fft_ noise in the back of his throat.

“Stop,” the voice was soft, the first sound he’d heard out of the woman.

“Now you have something you want to say puta?”

Her expression didn’t falter, “You don’t want to kill me.”

He laughed, “And why not? You going to offer me something else?” He raised an eyebrow, raking his eyes down her body, “Maybe a bit of a fuck? Trust me, I’ve had better than you.” He licked his lips. She was beautiful, it really would be a shame to kill her even he had to admit. 

“No. You’re not going to kill me because I’m much more valuable to you alive.”

“Really?” he stepped towards her again, watching her face, “and why is that?”

Her face didn’t change by so much as a hair when she said, “Because I’m the Angel of Death.”

Beside him, Miguel began to recite the rosary under his breath while David quickly crossed himself - stepping away from the woman.

Nevada’s eyes narrowed on her, “Ángel de la Muerte? Fuck you, the Angel of Death isn’t a person. He’s a myth, like the boogie man. Eat your broccoli little mijo or el Ángel will get you.”

She stepped closer to him, her face still that mask of unperturbed calm. “I worked for Sonny Valentino in Queens for ten years. I did good work for him too. The kind of work you don’t tell your family about. Valentino gave me that name - called me the Queens Angel. I think he thought it was funny. Right up until the moment he sold his whole crew out to a D.A. for immunity. I spent two years in jail for that pompinara,” she spit the word out, her mouth curving into a sneer. He didn’t know what it meant but could guess. “I _despise_ disloyalty.”

“Well, you’re in luck then, Valentino was taken out last week.” He stared at her, watching her face, “Messy job they say.”

“Extremely.”

Nevada wasn’t sure if it was the deadpan way she said it or the utter lack of accompanying expression but he suddenly wished he was standing a little further away. He did a mental shake and snorted, “They say the Queens Angel killed twenty men.”

“Twenty eight - but _killing_ people isn’t what I’m good at.”

He cocked his head to the side, “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not asking you to believe me, I’m offering to work for you. You’re only going to get it once.”

She stepped even closer and before he knew what was happening she had pulled the Les Baer from the waist of his pants, turning and shooting the kid she was with between the eyes. The kid never knew what was happening, blood spraying out behind him in a fan. It was either a lucky shot or she was very good. He was starting to think it was the latter.

“Twenty nine.” She turned the gun over in her hand, looking at it for a long moment. “I have a very specific set of skills Signore Ramirez, skills I’m sure you could make good use of in your line of work. And at the moment I am unemployed. You treat me well and I will be loyal to you until the day I die. Treat me poorly…” she trailed off. If she was who she said she was there was no need to finish it. They hadn’t found enough of Valentino to bury.

Still holding the gun, she used her other hand to pull her white t-shirt over her head. Standing in a pink lace bra like she did this every day she gently wrapped the gun in the fabric, tucking it into a tight little bundle. “One gun, used to commit a murder with my fingerprints all over it. You could send me to jail for the rest of my life. Call it insurance.”

“You’ll do anything?” he reached out for the bundle and she placed it in his hand, holding tight to it a moment.

“All but one. I’m not your troia. Don’t ever ask me to fuck anybody.” She stared straight at him, not blinking. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d seen her blink since she was brought it. “Not even you. Capisci?”

Her grey eyes were nearly lifeless - he’d seen that look once before, in Puerto Plata. In a chill, dead room where he’d begged for his life and made promises he swore never to break. Sometimes he still woke in a cold sweat at the memory.  The eyes had been brown then, but they were the same nevertheless.

“Deal. Consider yourself on probation.” He turned to his men, “Clean that up.”

She smiled at him, but that was almost worse than the lack of expression. It looked wrong on her, like she was mimicking something she’d seen other people do but didn’t understand the reasons for. “I clean up my own messes.”

Well, that at least was something to like about her. “Fair enough mija,” he looked at the body on the floor, “Can you make him disappear?” It was a test of sorts, shooting a guy in the head was one thing - proper disposal of a body quite another. Few of his men did it particularly well.

“I’ll need latex gloves, a skull chisel, a twenty-four inch bone saw and an extension cord, a meat cleaver - industrial if you can find it.” She titled her head, staring at the body. “Two dozen, no three dozen heavy-duty trash bags, four gallons of bleach and three packs of steel wool, a twelve yard roll of plastic wrap and an espresso, two sugars.” She paused staring at the blood splatter, “Better make it two espresso.”

He laughed as the men around him cringed away from her. There was something definitely wrong with her but as long as she was working for him and not someone else he could deal with that. He snapped his fingers, “Get her what she needs. You,” he turned back to her, pointing, “what do I call you?”

She seemed surprised by the question, the first time he’d seen her unsure of herself the entire exchange. She blinked at him once, “Angel... That’s all anyone ever calls me.”

“Well Ángel, welcome to the Heights.”


	2. Chapter 2

Nevada watched the man sitting across from him, sipping at his wine as he felt his eyebrows draw together.

“What have you done with my money?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dan, Dan, Dan… don’t be like that. Your boss is selling on my streets, you know it, _I_ know it. That makes what he’s earning my money. So be a good boy and tell papí where it is.”

The man stammered, his eyes rolling a bit until the whites showed. “I don’t know anything about that. I just do my job, Malcolm - he does what he does.”

Nevada nodded at his man on the other side of the room, refilling his wine and swirling it gently in the glass. The soft click of the handcuffs on his wrists took Dan by surprise and his protests only got louder as Nevada carefully cut into his steak. He lifted a hand, Manuel was already cracking his knuckles in anticipation when suddenly he stopped himself. This was an opportunity that didn’t come to him often. “Never mind Manny, call Ángel - tell her I need her services this evening.”

Manuel nodded reluctantly, turning into the corner and pulling his phone out. Nevada continued to eat his dinner, watching the man across from him. His steak was overdone, more medium than rare. He was a simple man, of simple pleasures - and they couldn’t even get this right. He shook his head, pointing his fork at the restrained man. “A good steak is such a rare thing - like an honest man or a faithful woman.” He shrugged, popping the bite in his mouth, “Ah well, we make do with what we can get eh?” Dan didn’t answer, his eyes bugging out instead as his mouth worked on air. He looked like a fish caught out of water. It was fine, Nevada neither expected nor needed and answer.

The Angel looked like elegance personified when she strolled in through the back of the restaurant some ten minutes later. A white fitted suit jacket over a silky white top barely a shade darker - perfectly tailored white pants falling just short of covering her pink heels. He’d never seen anything like her although he had to wonder at the practicality of it. She walked like she owned the place, striding around the table to stop at his shoulder. A perfect attendant.

“Ángel, this man here has information about things that I need. Be a darling would you?”

She blinked down at him slowly, barely seeming to notice the chatter that burst out of the man on the other side of the table. 

“I’m telling you Nevada I don’t know. Malcolm doesn’t tell me things, he doesn’t trust me - you know that.”

“I’ll need as many lemons as you can find. And I passed a cordless drill on my way in - see if the battery is good on it. And the bottle of grapa from the bar,” she was still looking at him, but casting her words to Manuel in the corner. Nevada nodded at him to get the things she asked for.

“The lemons, the drill I understand - but I’m curious, why the grapa?”

She smiled at him, this one less alien than others he had seen from her. “The grapa’s for me.”

He watched in fascination as she reached into the soft grey purse at her side, pulling a rolled piece of cloth out and setting it on the table. She carefully untied it, revealing an assortment of knives and picks. When Manuel returned she laid the items he brought out in front of her next to the knives, pouring herself a generous snifter of the liquor and taking a sip. She sighed, picking up one of the smaller knives and stepping behind the babbling man’s chair. Running her fingers down his hair in a movement that seemed almost seductive before pinching at the back of his neck. Dan’s head locked back, his mouth dropping open and his eyes bulging.

“Il Padrone is going to ask you questions - and I’m going to do my business. The two things are not related. Not really. There’s no right or wrong answer that is going to get me to stop or slow down or put you out of your misery.” She lifted the knife to the corner of Dan’s eye and Nevada curiously stared as she made a quick downward incision. The man cried out, blinking and making muffled yelping noises each time he moved. She moved the knife to his other eye, “These are reminders for you of what I just said. I’m not listening to you figlio - only he is. And I only listen to him. So make him happy eh?” She cut the other eye and Nevada winced a little internally at the blood that welled up - his own eyes blinking in reluctant sympathy.

It took less than seven minutes. Dan confessed to every crime he had ever committed and at the end practically begged Nevada to put a hit out on his boss - who it turned out would be at 168th tomorrow night with a new shipment. He was bleeding from several places, half of his face an unrecognizable mess of bruises and round puncture wounds. He smelled, somewhat incongruously, of fresh lemons.

She was still pristine - not a drop of anything marring her perfectly white outfit.

“I need a bucket of water, ten percent bleach and some tongs,” she told Manuel once Nevada had motioned her to stop. He raced off, swallowing hard and not meeting her eyes. When he returned she dropped the three used knives inside, swirling them around with the tongs until they were clean and laid them gently on one of the dinner napkins on the table. The drill she dumped unceremoniously inside as well - handing the bucket back to Manuel, “Keep it, dump it, it’s up to you.”

Nevada sipped his wine as she knelt in front of Dan, gently uncuffing his wrists from behind the chair. “Figlio listen to me. You’re first instinct is going to be a shower. Don’t do that. The lemons are going to wash into all of the little bits and pieces I missed and it will feel like your skin is on fire. Take a sponge bath - better yet have your girlfriend do it for you. Tomorrow, go see someone about your eyes. You wouldn’t want that to get infected.”

Dan nodded at her, “Thank you.”

Nevada tilted his head. Now that was very odd indeed.

He motioned for his men to take the man outside and he wiped his hands on the cloth napkin at the table. “Sit, drink” he gestured at the empty seat next to him and poured her a glass of the shiraz. She relaxed back into it - crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. “You do fast work Ángel.”

She nodded, not blinking as she stared at him.

“Consider your probation over.”

Her chin went up and she took a deep breath. She picked up the glass of wine, taking a sip before responding. “We should discuss my rate.”

He narrowed his eyes on her, “I’ll provide an apartment, you’ll have a line of credit at whatever market you’d like - a hundred a week for whatever else you need.”

She laughed, the sound was musical, floating into the air even as Manuel walked the broken bleeding man she had just tortured out the front door. “Oh, that’s good. And very funny. You’ll pay me a hundred thousand a year, in cash, eight thousand on the first of each month and a four kay bonus at Christmas.”

He choked on his wine. “Amorcita you are beautiful and very good at what you do but no one who works for me makes that kind of money.”

Her eyes had finally lost that hard edge and the grey color seemed almost soft in the dim light of the restaurant. “I try not to listen to my work, I try not to hear what they say. But unless I miss my guess you are going to make a _lot_ of money on the deal you just learned about. Am I right?”

“Yes,” he said carefully.

“In the high six figures? Maybe even seven?” He didn’t respond to that and she shrugged, “You can keep me on retainer, or you can pay me a cut of every deal I help you make.”

Nevada did the mental math quickly. “Fine, eight kay on the first of every month - but you work for me alone.”

She seemed offended by the demand, “Once you have me I’m yours.”

“And _I_ choose where you live,” he pressed.

“No deal then,” she shook her head, “you don’t even get to _know_ where I live.”

“I have to know where to find you.”

“I’ll be around,” she finished her glass of wine, setting it on the table and rising to her feet. She bundled the drying knives into the linen napkin and slid everything into her purse. “Let’s go ahead and backdate June to the first shall we?”

He rose as well, noting in the mirror above the bar what a matched pair they made. He head to toe in black, her a perfect white accompaniment. He held a hand out and when she took it he squeezed her fingers, pulling her a step towards him, “ _I_ get to know where you live, as well as access - but no one else in the crew does. Final offer.”

Her nostrils flared and her hand squeezed his back. She had a strong grip. “Fine, I’ll let you know when I’ve settled down.”

They shook and she left without another word, her ass swaying beneath the lightweight white blazer. He’d have to have been dead not to notice.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is titled 'Ah well, fuck it - because I have no idea where this is going so why not, you know what I'm saying?'

Nevada saw her immediately when they walked into the dark nightclub. Ángel de la Muerte stood out like a glowing beacon in the middle of the dancers - none of them aware of the blood on her hands (metaphorical of course, in the two months she'd worked for him she had shown a preternatural ability to avoid spatter) from even just hours before. The skintight dress glowed bright blue under the ultraviolet lights and the aura caught on her face as she swayed to the bass beat. Around her, three different men had their hands on her skin - pressing against her back and sides as she turned this way and that. Kissing one, reaching down on another and grinding her hips into the last.

Millennia ago they would have called her a Siren - those men would be lucky to be lured onto the rocks by her.

He watched them a moment longer than he should have before crossing into the back room and the people waiting for him. It was a coincidence, nothing more, and no reason to get distracted.

An hour later he pushed himself away from the table, accepting the shot of whiskey he was offered and turning down the hall to take a piss. He pushed the door to the bathroom open, then stopped as he caught sight of the couple screwing inside. Oh for fuck’s sake…

He met the woman’s eyes in the mirror and it took him a second to fully process what he was seeing. She was leaning her hands on the bathroom counter, the front of her dress pushed beneath her breasts. In the reflection, he could see her nipples peeking over the cups of a light pink bra. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed, her skirt pulled up around her waist as the man fucked her from behind. That guy, he had his eyes closed, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips and Nevada watched them.

“Oh yeah you little slut, you like that? Huh?”

Nevada’s eyes narrowed, the corner of one beginning to twitch slightly but Angel’s face remained impassive - locking on Nevada’s and ignoring the man behind her. She leaned forward a little more, tilting her hips and pressing her ass back against the guy and Nevada heard the low groan as the fucker came.

She rolled her eyes, working her jaw as she stood up, then turned to hop back on the counter. The blonde was pulling his condom off, tucking himself back in his pants and stepping away but she grabbed him by the arm. “You’re not done,” pulling his hand between her legs.

The asshole jerked away, “Baby I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with but-“

Nevada crossed the room quickly, locking the door and stepping behind the man and grabbing him by the back of the neck. “You shouldn’t leave a lady wanting,” he growled and saw the man’s eyes widen in fright in the mirror as he recognized Nevada. Little did he know, the woman on the counter was far more likely to hurt him than Nevada was.

The asshole’s hands came up hesitantly, slipping a finger inside her and Nevada watched the other man try and pleasure her with short, sharp strokes.

Angel’s eyes met his over the guy’s shoulder, ignoring the figure standing between them. After several long moments she leaned back on one hand, using the other to push down on the blonde hair. Nevada helped, pressing the man down and then forward until his face was buried between her thighs. She moaned, arching her neck back and closing her eyes. She looked sexy as hell, fingers gripping the edge of the countertop and when she came, her eyes and mouth opened and she looked straight into his soul.

Nevada let the guy go, pushing him to the side and the couple standing at the sink ignored him as he slunk out of the small space. Angel slowly pulled the front of her dress back up, her skirt still pushed up around her thighs. 

“Thanks for the help.”

He snorted, this night couldn’t get any more strange. “Bad decision there,” he commented.

She shrugged, hopping down from the counter and smoothing her skirt over her hips, “They’re all bad decisions.” She went to brush by him and he caught her arm, unsure of what he wanted to say but feeling he needed to say _something_.

She stared down at his hand, then up at him. He should let her go, but instead he smoothed his palm against her, turning so he could lean into her at the door. She probably knew six ways to get by him - another twelve to kill him. But she let him, leaning her head back agains the dingy wood and looking at him through her long eyelashes.

“You deserve better.” That hadn’t been what he’d thought he was going to say.

A blink. “No.” She opened the door, stepping into his space until her body pressed lengthwise to his. “No I don’t.”

She left him with the faint scent of her perfume and a hard-on.

 

**Author's Note:**

> More stories by brandyllyn:  
> 'Debt Makes Promises' - Owing a favor to a known drug kingpin was hard enough, but when that person is Nevada Ramirez all bets are off. (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Further on the Edge' - Nevada meets a woman who gives him a run for his money. But she's not quite what she presents herself to him... (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Half Empty' - Sometimes your body is the only thing you have left to negotiate with. (Trouble in the Heights)  
> 'Bought and Paid For...' - To avoid going to a gala alone, Frederick Chilton procures the services of an escort. (Hannibal)  
> 'Time's Fool' - Chilton is confronted with a woman from his past, but will their unfinished business ruin him or save him? (Hannibal)  
> 'Good Man Feelin' Bad' - Rafael Barba meets an interesting woman at a gala. (Law & Order: SVU)  
> 


End file.
